“They don’t seem to care how they look and ... they do wear shabby gloves and shoes.”  So her thoughts ran.  “But they are the Rockwoods and they don’t have to care.  It must be so easy for them; they only have to visit the Day Nursery, and the Home for Incurables, and some old, poor, sick people.  They never have to meet them and ask them to dinner.  They just say a few words and leave some money or things in a nice way, and they can go home and do what they please.”  Clara Leeds’s eyes rested unseeingly on the house opposite.  “It must be nice to have a rector ... he is such an intellectual-looking man, so quiet and dignified; just the way a minister should be, instead of like Mr. Copple, who tries to be jolly and get up sociables and parlor meetings.”  There were tears in the girl’s eyes.

A tea-bell rang, and Clara went down-stairs to eat dinner with her father.  He had just come in and was putting on a short linen coat.  Clara’s mother was dead.  She was the only child at home, and kept house for her father.

“I suppose you are all ready for the lawn-tennis match this afternoon?” said Mr. Leeds to his daughter.  “Mr. Copple said you were going to play with him.  My! that young man is up to date.  Think of a preacher getting up a lawn-tennis club!  Why, when I was a young man that would have shocked people out of their boots.  But it’s broad-minded, it’s broad-minded,” with a wave of the hand.  “I like to see a man with ideas, and if lawn-tennis will help to keep our boys out of sin’s pathway, why, then, lawn-tennis is a strong, worthy means of doing the Lord’s work.”

“Yes,” said Clara.  “Did Mr. Copple say he would call for me?  It isn’t necessary.”

“Oh yes, yes,” said her father; “he said to tell you he would be around here at two o’clock.  I guess I’ll have to go over myself and see part of the athletics.  We older folks ain’t quite up to taking a hand in the game, but we can give Copple our support by looking in on you and cheering on the good work.”

After dinner Mr. Leeds changed the linen coat for a cutaway and started back to his business.  Clara went up-stairs and put on a short skirt and tennis shoes.  She again surveyed herself in the mirror.  The skirt certainly hung just like the model.  She sighed and got out her tennis-racquet.  Then she sat down and read in a book of poems that she was very fond of.

At two o’clock the bell jangled, and Clara opened the door for Mr. Copple herself.  The clergyman was of slight build, and had let the hair in front of his ears grow down a little way on his cheeks.  He wore a blue yachting-cap, and white duck trousers which were rolled up and displayed a good deal of red and black sock.  For a moment Clara imaged a clear-cut face with grave eyes above a length of clerical waistcoat, on which gleamed a tiny gold cross suspended from a black cord.

“I guess we might as well go over,” she said.  “I’m all ready.”